Debates of The Heart
by caughtinthestars
Summary: AU. If she could, she'd will her heart to stop caring for The Doctor. It would make having to kill him so much easier. Clara Oswald has been tasked with the job of killing T.A.R.D.I.S agent The Doctor. Unfortunately for both her and her target, her feelings get in the way.


One quick glance was all that was needed to size up the room.

It was small, sparsely furnished, and what furnishings it did have were simple and looked to be several years old. But Clara wasn't one to complain, she knew she was lucky to have one at all. Still, it was a bit of a disappointment. She'd thought her boss could've pulled some strings for one of his top infiltrators. It must be that either he hadn't tried hard enough or that he just didn't care. In truth, the latter wouldn't surprise her at all.

Clara let out a small discontent sigh, letting her gaze drift around the room she would be staying in for an unknown period of time. There was a small bed against one wall, a faded blanket draped over it and a depleted looking pillow leaning on its headboard. Beside the bed, on its right side, was a table. The only thing on top of that was a dusty lamp. Against another wall was a wooden bureau, and a mirror.

Well, there was no point in feeling unhappy about the room, she'd just have to deal with it—in all its gloomy sad entirety. So she turned her attention instead to unpacking and settling into her new home, she'd make it hers one way or another.

Walking forward she dropped her suitcase onto the bed and opened it. She pulled her neatly folded clothes out and stepped over to the bureau with them held in her arms. Like the room, the bureau too looked small, but after opening it a smile crossed onto her face. There was a silver lining after all. On the inside it appeared to be a lot bigger and a variety of dresses, blouses, jumpers, skirts, and slacks were already in it.

''Now that's more like it,'' she remarked, running a hand across the beautiful new clothes. They were such gorgeous rich colors: bright reds and oranges, navy blues, pastel shades of pink, and even some light shades of gray and brown. No more having to wear her drab wartime clothes anymore. For a brief moment she wondered just where exactly they'd found all of them (especially those made of silk, seeing as it was nearly impossible to find any), before pushing the thought away. It didn't matter anyway. She now had some new clothes for whatever her next task would be.

The nature of her next assignment was something she would know very soon—only in half an hours time. In the pocket of the dress she was wearing was a slip of paper, an address written across it in ink. That address was where she would be meeting her employer and receiving full details on the job.

After she finished storing her old clothes away in the back of the bureau and stowed her suitcase underneath the bed, she changed into one of her new dresses—one in a beautiful shade of blue with a gathered front. Throwing on her old worn coat over it, she quickly ran a brush through her hair to make sure there wasn't a curl out of place. Clara took a quick glance at her appearance in the mirror and slowly let out a deep breath.

Her heart was beginning to pound now.

She felt nervous, on edge, and afraid at the same time, jumbled all-together. She'd met him before—their infamous leader. Twice. But she dreaded having to see him again. He was cold in his demeanor, and malicious and ruthless in his actions. Both times she'd had an encounter with him had been difficult to bear, and once they'd ended she'd breathed a sigh of relief.

 _Be brave,_ she told herself. _You knew what you were getting into when you started this. It's far too late to try to back out now._

But oh, how she wished she could.

* * *

The address belonged to a pub that stood on a crowded corner. It was old and could certainly use some repair. A faded sign hanging above the door gave its name as Mancini's.

Crossing the street slowly to delay the inevitable for as long as she could, Clara began mentally preparing herself. She could be afraid and uneasy, she just had to hide it—from him. There was no way she was going to let him know the true effect he had on her. He already had too much power and sway over her, and she hated that. Hated that he could manipulate her so easily.

She entered the pub almost completely unnoticed, thanks to the sudden outburst of shouting at one of the tables. Although she had seen the eyes of an older man with graying hair and wild eyebrows following her when she took a seat at a table. She laid her handbag down, and took from it a compact, along with her reddest shade of lipstick. A test to find out if he would continue to watch her. Turning her mirror just so, Clara was able to get a good view of him, and through it she watched him closely. He did. In fact, she was sure that his eyes had followed her hand as she applied the scarlet shade.

A part of her was tempted to walk over to his table and take a seat, maybe flirt a little with him. After all, she could always use the practice. But any moment now her employer would walk in and she couldn't let her guard down just for a fun flirt. Clara decided to remain seated where she was. Maybe she would order a drink, might as well enjoy herself while she waited.

''Er, Miss," a voice said, gruff and Scottish.

Clara glanced up to find herself staring into the face of her thick-browed watcher. He must have come over to her table while she was contemplating a cocktail, because he was now standing right in front of her. With a closer look she couldn't help but notice that his large eyebrows framed remarkably piercing, stormy blue eyes.

''You should know that this isn't exactly the safest place for a pretty young woman to be."

''Oh, a gentlemen I see, and one who thinks I'm pretty too,'' she said, flashing a smile.

She'd switched on her best charms for this mysterious man, not that he was in any way unique. She'd done it before. Many a mission had required her to flirt with, and even seduce a target.

''Must be my lucky day.''

His face colored slightly and he cleared his throat awkwardly; he wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

After noticing how she'd made him blush, Clara couldn't help but tease him a little. ''I see you're lost for words, I have that effect.''

''You have a very high opinion of yourself, don't you?'' he asked, finally regaining his voice.

''Well, don't say it like that. I'm not an egomaniac, I just happen to be confident,'' she retorted, leaning forward. ''So, are you going to sit down or not?'' Clara asked, tilting her head in the direction of the seat across from her. ''It's hurting my neck a bit, having to crane it up to look at you.''

''Might as well, since it seems we've struck up a conversation." Pulling the chair out, he took the offered seat. ''I'm the Doctor.''

''Hmm, Doctor,'' she muttered, savoring its sound. She liked it. In a way it seemed to fit him. ''Are you one?'' she asked in afterthought.

''No, it's just a name,'' he replied.

Clara smirked slightly. Obviously he didn't have a very high opinion of himself, but she could work with that. ''Oh, there's a lot in a name, but that can't be your real one.''

''What if I told you that it was?'' he asked, leaning closer.

''Well, then you'd be lying, wouldn't you? Doctor is an occupation if I remember, and _not_ a name.''

''It's a name of sorts, so I'm not really lying. What's yours?''

Clara hesitated briefly. ''Oswin,'' she answered, grabbing from a list of memorized cover names.

The Doctor had noticed her moment of hesitation though, and he raised his eyebrows in question. ''But it's not, is it?''

Caught in the middle of her own lie Clara retorted, ''No. But I see no reason to give you my name when I don't know yours.'' Her curious nature was now burning with impatience as she asked the next question. It was silly, but with all the secrecy, she suddenly wanted to know his name very much. ''Are you going to tell me or not?''

He grinned a little, not bothered at all by her curiosity. ''You're a very unusual women, aren't you, Oswin?''

''Maybe, but you still haven't answered my question. Once you tell me, I might give you some answers back.''

''John Smith,'' he said simply, finally relenting. ''Now are you going to return the favor and give me yours?''

Ooh, he was good. A smile danced on her lips. ''I'm Clara, and that's about all of that you'll get.''

Only a small part of her felt reluctant at giving him her real name, despite knowing the importance of keeping her identity hidden given the business she was in. But Clara consoled her conscience with the thought that she would likely never see him again. And anyway, she'd only given him part of her name, surely not enough to cause any trouble.

The two of them talked for a few minutes, both avoiding anything even vaguely personal, then said their goodbyes. Pushing his chair away and standing up, John took a pen and a scrap of paper out of his pocket and quickly wrote something across before handing it to Clara. ''My address, if you should ever want to find me. Goodbye, Clara, it was certainly interesting meeting you.''

''Yes, it was a pleasure, wasn't it?'' Clara remarked casually, scooping the paper off the table. ''But I'm probably not going to be in the city for much longer. We might not meet again.''

She wasn't going to return the favor and give him the address to her flat. Couldn't. There was no way she could ever have contact with him again, it would just be to dangerous and risky—for both of them. So she was closing herself off, severing any reason or excuse to ever see John again. Clara wasn't going to drag him into the mess that was her life. She already had to many deaths on her conscience, she wasn't going to risk adding another.

For a moment Clara had let down her guard. It had been a nice distraction to talk with him, and she had very little opportunities to do that anymore. But now she was regretting her slight moment of thoughtlessness. She felt almost panicked. If anything ever happened to him, she didn't think she'd ever be able to forgive herself. It didn't matter that she barely knew him, Clara certainly wasn't going to put him in any danger.

He looked almost disappointment. ''Well, let's just hope fate has other plans.''

''Yes, maybe. As for me I've never really believed in fate. I think people make their own choices. Only some have to live with the consequences of them.'' That was something she knew well.

''Goodbye, Mr. Smith.''

Clara watched him leave, feeling a sharp sting of disappointment as she crumpled up the address in her hand. She wouldn't be needing it.


End file.
